


hit the road and i'm gone

by TakeAStepOut (Falterbehind)



Category: Reservoir Dogs (1992)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, Heist, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, i know that’s the whole movie but like ... a different heist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:35:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24732445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Falterbehind/pseuds/TakeAStepOut
Summary: Freddy’s job was meant to be easy - drive to the target, wait a few minutes for the heist to be completed, meet up with Larry to divvy out the goods, and be back home in time to beat rush hour traffic.It hadn’t been that easy.
Relationships: Mr. Orange/Mr. White (Reservoir Dogs)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 51





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Idly commented about wanting to write a heist fic and then sat down and wrote this, which ironically, is barely about the heist lmao.
> 
> Thanks as always to the incomparable Emmy who only pouted a little that I wouldn't beam this directly into her brain while I was writing it

_Start the car. Start the car start the car startthecarstartthecarstarthe_

Simple tasks, Freddy reminded himself, took in a deep breath and winced. _Start the car._

He turned the key in the ignition, shoulder checked through pure muscle memory, and pulled out into the road, forcing himself to drive at a reasonable speed. Blend into the feed and flow of the traffic- they weren’t looking for a white sedan, he could take his time while they tried to locate the truck he had ditched two blocks back. 

His hands shook with the adrenaline that pumped through his veins, and he clenched them against the wheel to steady them, gritting his teeth. He was wound so tight he nearly turned into oncoming traffic when the burner phone in the cup holder started playing its rinky-dink tune. He fumbled it, almost dropping it before managing to answer the call, wedging the phone in between his shoulder and ear. 

“Freddy, what the hell is going on? There’s shit on the radio, I’m hearing sirens, what the fuck went down?”

“Job went south, man,” Freddy turned on his blinker, switched lanes, trying to focus on the conversation and the road; on anything but the burning bullet hole in his gut. 

“The job went- what do you mean the job went south?” There was a sense of urgency in Larry’s tone that hadn’t shifted into anger yet and Freddy hoped to God he could keep it that way.

“Vic lost it; started shooting the place up before the job was even halfway through. Took one of the other guys down with him,” Freddy cursed under his breath thinking about watching from the street as Vic had opened fire unprovoked on the target. It was meant to be a discreet operation- in and out before anyone even realized they’d been there. Freddy hadn’t even seen what had gone wrong, just that it had. All it took was one thing. 

“Jesus, shit, alright. You got the goods or are we up shit creek and empty handed?” 

“Yeah, yeah I got ‘em man; don’t worry,” Freddy said, breath measured carefully on the exhale so that Larry wouldn’t know something was wrong. He took a hand off the wheel and pressed it to his side, tried not to hiss through his teeth. He turned off at the next exit, taking a roundabout way to the rendezvous in case he was being followed, a little too preoccupied to keep checking his mirrors and focus on everything else.

“Any of the others with you?” Larry’s voice was back under control, cool and smooth and professional again. 

“Nah man, like I said. Vic took Mr. Brown out when he opened up, Pink got a gun pulled on him halfway out the door with the shit, and Vic wasn’t too far behind him in knock-knock-knockin’ on heaven’s door. I ran out and grabbed the bags once I saw everyone had bit it, took the fuck off,” he left off the part where someone had got a shot off as he’d retreated back the truck; left off the part where it had found its mark in his side. 

The car rattled over a pothole and Freddy exhaled sharply, pain jostling through him. He wasn’t afraid to look down and see the damage, but he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to keep driving if he did. Didn’t want to psych himself out when he was so close. 

Larry swore, long and loud. “You’re okay, kid?”

“I’m fine; ditched the truck as planned and I’m making my way back now,” Freddy lied smoothly. The pain was becoming all encompassing, like someone had pressed the sun to his skin and let it linger. He flexed his hand holding the wheel. _Keep it together, Newandyke._

“Good. That’s good. Fuckin’ Christ, I knew I shouldn’t have let Vic on this job. Guy’s always been funny but something about him felt real off this time,” Larry’s voice was still calm and collected but disgust was waiting just under the surface, thinly veiled. That was classic Larry; blame all the failings of others on himself.

“Guess this means we get their cuts,” Freddy was half-distracted, the adrenaline wearing off and leaving the raw burning in its wake. Distantly he was aware that Larry laughed; the startled laugh that Freddy had always enjoyed pulling out of him. “Whatcha thinking you’re gonna do with the extra, man? Get another house or something?”

“I’m gonna take a long fuckin’ vacation if we get away with this shit show.” Larry’s voice was light, tension slightly broken and if Freddy hadn’t had his face twisted up he would have smiled. 

“Sounds nice; maybe I’ll join you. Annoy the shit out of you while we drink outta coconut shells on the beach,” there was another exit coming up and getting ready to signal was taking more focus than Freddy wanted to think about. “We can go to Mexico or one of those uh, tropical places.”

“I seem like the relaxing on the beach type to you?” Larry laughed, and Freddy forced out a chuckle, breath catching against the jolt of pain it caused. 

“I don’t know, man. Wouldn’t that be nice though? Sunsets, booze, no worries. Guy could get used to living like that, you know? No responsibilities; just sand and sea. Sounds real fuckin’ good to me.” 

Freddy checked his mirrors, sped up a little. He hadn’t heard a siren moving his way in a hot minute and it was starting to look like he’d lost the cops back in the city center. He could keep his eyes up, focus, get to the rendezvous point. He could. He just had to keep talking and keep the car moving. 

“Sounds peachy fuckin’ keen, kid. Is that what you’re gonna do once we get this shit done up? Move to Mexico and live the high life?” 

“Shit, maybe. Maybe I’ll move cross country and get out this town- invest in some stocks or something,” Freddy laughed at the absurdity, hoped the panic and pain that were beginning to colour his tone weren’t audible to Larry. “Maybe I’ll just stick around here, though; I’m kinda used to it now.”

There was a pause on the other end of the connection, a heartbeat too long. “Yeah. Yeah, we got a good thing going on with this operation, huh?”

“Present time excluded.” A light turned yellow and Freddy accelerated on through, desperate to keep the car moving. 

“Present time excluded,” Larry allowed, paused again. “You’re sure you’re okay, kid?”

“Yeah, man. Just uh, just rattled, you know. Seeing Vic lose it like that….” Freddy trailed off, let Larry’s mind fill in the blank. It was becoming more and more clear that this stupid sedan was gonna be where he drew his final breath, but goddamn him if he was gonna let Larry know that. He’d take it real hard; real personal, Freddy knew.

In the year or so they’d been working together they’d got on like a house on fire. Larry had taken care of him when he was still wet behind the ears, fresh to the game and Freddy wasn’t about to pay him back by letting the guy worry about him now. Especially when there wasn’t much left to be done. 

“First job that blows up in your face is always rough. You’ll make it through, tough guy,” Larry’s voice was soothing, calming, self-assured now that he felt like he had a handle on the situation. 

“I know; it’ll all be fine, Larry,” Freddy said, almost absently. “I’m about five minutes away now, man. You at the rendezvous?”

“Course; ain’t missed one yet.” 

“Keep it that way, old man,” far off a siren blared, and Freddy felt his heart rate spike. He watched in his mirrors as an ambulance ripped through the intersection behind him, exhaled even and slow.

“Homestretch now, see you in a few, kiddo,” Larry disconnected the call, the distraction of the conversation gone and leaving Freddy to focus on the blood wetting his shirt and jeans. He’d have thought it would have felt hot, but it was cold against his skin despite the midday heat trapped in the interior of the car.

The rendezvous point was coming up, an empty parking lot, second left after the taqueria. Then he’d be done- mission complete. Relief at the thought of not leaving Larry in the lurch hit him like a brick wall, he signaled and pulled in to the lot, parked next to the nondescript car that Larry drove for heists. 

Larry climbed out, looking expectantly at Freddy who gritted his teeth, finally opened the door. There was a moment of inaction, Larry frozen and staring at Freddy slumped in his seat, shirt stained red and sweat on his brow. Blood was smeared over half the inside of the car, rogue blotches on Freddy’s face where he’d swiped his hair from his eyes. 

“You said you were okay, Christ, fuck,” Larry sprung into action, closing the distance between them in a few short steps and reaching around Freddy to undo his seat belt.

“The bags are in the back,” he said mechanically, letting Larry manhandle him out of the sedan, hands careful to support and not hurt. Freddy did his best to keep his mouth shut, a few distressed whines slipping through gritted teeth. 

“Fuck the bags,” Larry growled, helping Freddy into the back of the car and laying him down, gentle despite the scowl twisting his features.

“I’m not dying for you to say _fuck the bags_ ,” Freddy spit out, voice raised an octave in pain, watched Larry’s face grow even darker. He stepped back, mouth opened to argue before shaking his head once and retrieving the bags, throwing them on the passenger seat. 

He was vaguely aware of Larry talking rapid-fire to someone on the phone, heard the engine rumble to life as the phone clicked closed. Now that the urgency of arrival was dealt with, he was hit with precisely how much his side hurt, an aching, burning pain radiating out.

“You’re still with me back there, kid?” Larry asked, reaching a hand back and clasping it with Freddy’s. 

“Yeah, yeah I’m still here, Larry,” Freddy groaned, writhed on the backseat, vaguely aware he was making a mess of Larry’s backseat. There was a 70’s song on the radio, bright and poppy and vaguely familiar.

“Keep talking to me; tell me something.” The car swung a sharp left, sending Freddy sliding into the door on the blood-slicked leather.

“I’m fuckin’ dying,” Freddy laughed, manic, “what do you wanna fuckin’ hear? My grocery list?”

“You’re not dying, tough guy. You’re hurt pretty bad, I’ll give you that, but you’re not dying, alright?” Larry said over his shoulder, squeezed Freddy’s hand tight. “So, tell me what you’re gonna do with your money, huh? Tell me more about this beach vacation.”

“The fuckin'….” Freddy closed his eyes, grimaced as the car stopped suddenly at a red light, “the fuckin' beach. You can wear your dumb fuckin’ Hawaiian shirts there. Blend right in with everyone else who has bad taste.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Larry said affectionately, throwing a smile over his shoulder.

“Thought you wanted me to talk, old man,” Freddy grinned, struggled to sit up and then thought better of it, the pain worsening. He slumped back, head spinning. 

“Shit, clearly you’re not as bad off as you thought, if you’re able to give me hell like that,” Larry smiled, squeezed his hand again, fingers laced tight. 

“Where we going, man?” Freddy asked, closed his eyes when they started to go out of focus. 

“I got a friend who’ll fix you up real nice, good as new,” Larry soothed, “Just need you to hold on for me till we get there.”

“I’m fuckin’ trying, Larry,” Freddy’s voice sounded far away, like he was hearing himself speaking from a room away. He shifted, tried to make himself infinitesimally more comfortable. 

“You’re doing a great job, just keep on doing that for me, tough guy.”

Freddy hummed in reply, tried to summon up something to say but didn’t manage. Everything felt far away; too far away to worry about. 

“Hey, hey, listen to me. We’re nearly there. Just a few more minutes- you can do a few more minutes,” Larry cajoled, a desperate edge to his voice. “Freddy, you can do a few more minutes.”

There was a long, long pause before Freddy huffed out a “yeah”, his hand going limp in Larry’s grasp as the car rushed on through traffic, engine whining and tires squealing. 


	2. Chapter 2

Freddy’s head ached, felt like it had been jammed up full with cotton balls. Opening his eyes to the bright light streaming through the window made it worse, and he screwed his face up, groaned. When he opened them again he saw the familiar sight of comic book posters and disorganized clutter; in his own bed in his apartment, somehow. Touched a hand to his tender side and half-expected it to come away bloody. 

Slumped over in a chair next to the bed, head resting against the duvet, was Larry. Still fuzzy, Freddy reached out, brushed his fingers through Larry’s normally perfectly-coiffed hair, curled his fingers at the nape of his neck.

Larry stirred, adjusted in his seat and sat up, stretching his back. His hair was in a disarray, classic white shirt and jeans rumpled, deep marks of fatigue lining his face. “Morning, kiddo.”

“Fuck, man,” Freddy whistled out, low, coaxed a smile onto his face, “you look like shit.”

“Gee. They don’t teach kids these days any manners, huh?” Larry hoisted himself up and out of the chair, stalking out of the room to return shortly with a glass of water and a bottle of painkillers. He handed the glass and a dose of the medication over wordlessly, watching with a face of stone until Freddy complied. Once satisfied he settled back down into the kitchen chair that was drawn up bedside.

“I feel like hell,” Freddy groaned, leaned gingerly back against the pillows. There was no reply, just the sound of Larry turning the page of a book he had produced from somewhere out of Freddy’s line of sight. He twisted his hands into the duvet, waited for the painkillers to kick in, and listened to the swish of pages. As the weight of the silence grew he pulled at the duvet, scrunching it between his fingers and then smoothing it back out, fidgeting uncomfortably.

Finally it grew too much, Freddy twisted his head over, cast a look at Larry hunched over in the chair. “Whatcha doing here, man? There’s gotta be at least three things on tv more interesting than watching me sleep. Colour test pattern, for one.”

“Someone had to look after you the last three days while you were high off your ass, didn’t they?” Larry said, not looking up from his book. 

Freddy blinked. “Shit; three days?”

“Three. My guy stitched you up and I packed you off back here. Figured it would all be for nothing if I didn’t stick around to make sure you didn’t smother yourself,” Larry finally looked up from the book, and his expression was cool, all business. Freddy felt his blood go cold.

“Three days - must be some fuckin’ drugs there,” Freddy nodded at the bottle sitting on the night stand next to the now emptied glass, tried to keep his voice light. 

“Turns out you need a hell of a punch when you’ve been shot in the gut,” Larry said, sounded oddly accusatory, stood up, book tucked up under his arm. “If you’ll excuse me.”

“Larry-” Freddy started, hint of a whine in his voice, but Larry was gone before he could get the rest of the sentence out. He heard the tell-tale sound of the springs in his old couch; Larry settling down in the living room. Freddy struggled up into a sitting position, wound protesting at the strain. He’d only ever seen Larry act like that when dealing with contacts he had open disdain for; dismissive, disinterested. It was like a switch Larry could turn on or off; easy warmth to cold ice. Freddy found he didn’t care for having it switched on him.

Larry was pissed, and Freddy had all of one guess why.

He hoped to any god listening that the painkillers would do their job, and slowly swung his feet over the end of the bed, pushed himself to standing and rested a hand heavily on the bed for support. He hobbled to the door, holding on to whatever was within reach, breathing heavy and ignoring the shrieking pain in his side that the pills weren't masking. He leaned against the door frame, half in the living room and half out, sweat on his brow as he rested his head against the molding. He swayed on his feet, closed his eyes only to open them again as he heard Larry stand up

“Jesus fuck, what are you doing?” Larry’s face was a picture of anger, book cast aside. “You’re gonna pull out your stitches and so help me god if I have to drive your bleeding ass back to that office.”

“You,” Freddy didn't allow himself to be sidetracked, took one hand off the wall to point at Larry making his way across the room,“ are pissed at me.”

“I’m pissed at you? No shit, Sherlock, I’m pissed at you. Get your ass back in bed, Freddy.”

“Nah; we both know that’s not what I meant,” Freddy said, gesturing with his free hand. “You’re pissed about the job.”

“If I have to carry you back to bed, I will,” Larry was within spitting distance, fire in his eyes.

“So you can just walk away again? No way, Larry,” Freddy shook his head, leaned a little harder against the frame as the strain from standing began to really hit him. He knew logically he shouldn’t have gotten up, should have waited for Larry to come back, but Jesus was he meant to just sit there and stew?

“Did it look like I was walking away when I was sleeping in that fucking uncomfortable chair of yours, kid?” Larry sighed, the heat slightly dulled. “Go lie down and we can talk.”

“Talk, and then I’ll lie down, final offer,” Freddy asserted, the effect slightly ruined by the fact he looked half-dead. There was a moment where Larry looked as if he was going to pick him up and cart him off, but he stepped back, hands held up in defeat with the hardened look back in place. “What the fuck is the deal, man.”

Larry set a hand on his hip, fixed Freddy with a dead stare. “The deal is that you got tagged, bled all over that truck and ditched it. The cops are gonna have found it by now; if they don’t already have a full work up on you by now, it won’t be long til they do.”

Freddy huffed, shook his head slowly. “You knew when you picked me up for my first job I wasn’t in the system. I’m clean, man. They’ve got jack fuckin’ shit on me. That’s not what you’re so mad about.”

“Alright, wise guy, since you’re so smart, you tell me why it is I’m pissed off,” Larry raised his eyebrows, Freddy fought the urge to squirm under the weight of his gaze. 

“You think I fucked up this job,” Freddy stated, sounded dead tired. Larry’s face twitched, like he wanted to interrupt, but Freddy pushed on. “We both know it was Vic; he went mental in there, man. Started shooting for no goddamn reason; like he watched one too many crime movies and it all went to his fuckin’ head. I was outside, doing my job, waiting like I was meant to. It’s not my fault it went down like that.”

“Jesus, kid. I know you’re not the reason everything went belly up. It’s about the unprofessionalism,” Larry gestured with his free hand, irritated. There was a moment, just the smallest of seconds, where Larry's face shifted, and Freddy knew there was more going on than what was being let on. Call it gut instinct.

“Unprofessional,” Freddy repeated in disbelief, raised his eyebrows. 

“Unprofessional. You had a job- drive in, wait for the boys to do their piece, and drive away. Now, nowhere in that job description do you hear the words “get out of the fuckin’ car and get involved in whatever shit show may or may not be going down”,” Larry shook his head. “The getaway driver getting shot trying to play hero doesn’t do anyone any good; it’s rookie shit.”

“I could see the bags, man, was I meant to just leave them there? Let the whole job be for nothing? Fuck that. Three people _died,”_ heat crept into Freddy’s voice. This was what Larry had eating him? He was pissed that Freddy had gotten the job done? It wasn't adding up.

Almost as if a switch had flipped, Larry stepped closer, yelled, “So you decided to make it four?”

Freddy furrowed his brow, opened his mouth to reply but was cut off before he even began, because there it was.

“Of all the reckless bullshit you could have pulled, you decided that _this_ was worthwhile? You saw what went down in there and you decided you wanted a piece of that? Did you leave your fuckin brain at home, Jesus, kid,” Larry ranted, growing more expressive with his face and hands as he carried on. 

“Fuckin’ sue me; I didn’t want there to be nothing to show for this whole job going sour. It was enough that shit got fucked up, alright?. I didn’t want you to have that disappointment too,” Freddy bit back, then pulled up short. He’d let out a little more truth than he had meant to, his expression open and vulnerable. They both froze, putting all the pieces together.

Larry stood still for a moment, blinking, before closing the space between them. He wrapped a supportive arm around Freddy and pulled him close, his other hand coming up cradle Freddy’s jaw as their lips met. Instinctively Freddy’s hands came up, clutched at Larry’s shirt.

Larry was gentle, soft despite the anger that had been pouring off him, careful. Freddy melted into him, kissed Larry again and tucked his face into the crook his neck, let out a surprised laugh.

“Didn’t want to disappoint me, huh?” Larry teased, a touch of awe in his voice. He rubbed lazy circles into Freddy’s back, felt the warmth of his skin through the thing shirt he was wearing.

“I just want you to think I’m cool, because I’m super fuckin’ cool,” Freddy mumbled, voice a little muffled, hands tightening on Larry’s shirt. He felt Larry’s chest shake as he laughed.

“Yeah, yeah, tough guy, you’re real fuckin' cool. I’m real proud of you, now get your ass back into that bed. Don’t think I forgot the deal,” He pulled back, still supporting Freddy’s weight but putting a little distance between them. “You can tell me all about how much a slick guy you are.”

Freddy flashed a smile, all pointed teeth. “Come hold me?”

“Nothing else I’d rather be doing,” Larry smiled, started to help Freddy back into his bed. The relief on Freddy’s face once he was lying down again was clear, Larry cast a worried look down to the gauze covered wound, but it checked out. Satisfied that Freddy was fine he slipped under the duvet, wrapped an arm around Freddy as he settled himself on Larry’s chest.

“You kiss all your getaway drivers after they get shot?” Freddy quipped, voice already beginning to sound sleepy. Standing and arguing had taken more out of him than he wanted to admit to.

“Just the ones with smart mouths.” Larry shot back, pressed a kiss to Freddy’s temple. “Don’t you ever do something like that again, you hear me?”

“I’m not looking for a repeat performance, man. Sorry I worried you,” Freddy pulled his head back to look Larry in the eye.

“Like I said, just don’t do it again,” Larry smiled, warm and easy. “I'm sorry I yelled at you. Now, close your eyes and get some rest, kid. That bullet wound ain’t gonna just heal itself.”

Freddy grumbled, laid his head back down on the bed. He fell asleep to the feeling of Larry’s hand carding gently through his hair, the distant sounds of Frankie Valli & The Four Seasons playing softly in the other room.

  
  



End file.
